


Par-anha for the Course

by whiskerbeast



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Terezi Pyrope - Freeform, gamzee makara - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:39:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskerbeast/pseuds/whiskerbeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignette inspired by/I guess written for lizardlicks on tumblr who did some awesome Karkat/HIC art.</p><p>"Toads aren't fish."</p><p>"Whatever."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Par-anha for the Course

**Author's Note:**

> The art that inspired this is [here, yo](http://lizardlicks.tumblr.com/post/42630267217/can-someone-please-write-me-an-au-where-karkat). Go ogle it.

You've always hated the sound that seriously heeled shoes make on stone floors. Consequently, your uniform shoes are one of hundreds of things that drive you shithive maggots at every possible fucking interval. You can sort of get over it, though, when you try really hard and also think about where you're going, which is sometimes to auspistize some Imperial shitstains your boss calls her minions, sometimes to pap your useless clown into submission, sometimes--read: currently--to invade your matesprit's personal space. Sometimes you also do actual work. Sometimes meaning more like all the fucking time. But whatever, at least you're hot. That's what Terezi keeps saying, anyway. You keep reminding her she's blind, how the fuck would she know what hot looks like. Nevermind the fact that her taste in trolls is panbogglingly awful, seriously, she pails with Vriska regularly. The whole thing gives you fucking unbelievable amounts of disgust.

You twitch when a guard snarls at you and shoot the nooksniffer a gutteral huff of warning. The bluebloods have been warned off by imperial decree, but the fuckers can't let shit like you--allegedly rustblood scum--lie, mostly because they're stupidly aggressive spongefondling cretinous fuckwads and don't seem to understand that attacking Threshecutioners without due cause gets you culled faster than you can twitch a claw. If you didn't know better you'd think the slurryslurping heinous douchewaffles know you're a fucking genetic reject, but you do know better, and also you're allowed to cull them if you want to so they can suck your bonespurs.

You swipe at the guard with a sickle when she doesn't back off, threatening to fuck up her awful fuschia uniform with her equally awful blood. She decides to keep her cartilagenous sniff protrusion and siddles away with slitted eyes, claws stuck out all ready to draw blood like some territorial pupa or, oh you don't know, a blueblood that's been bludgeoned forty thousand too many times around the nug. What an incompetent bulgefucking grubfister.

"Save it for your pitch pail, Nemain," you grunt as you pass the slim corridor she edged into. At least the fuckers know when to back off now--used to be you had to draw several bulges worth of blood before they'd pass out and get their asses culled for assaulting you, and also because it gives Her Imperial Condescension a cackle and a snort. You hear Nemain shuffle back to her post after you round the corner, hear her partner snicker. You'd bet several scarabs the other shitsponge attacks you on your way out, but you'll deal with that hurdle when you trip over it.

She left the side door open for you. You're smiling about it when you shove your way into the royal sit device chamber and almost immediately step on her hair.

"Sup," she says without turning oculars on you, feathery stupid lashes trained on the sparkling atrocity of her palmhusk. She taps her heels against her fancy gold chair. You do a wiggler jump dance game through the maze of her tangles while she taps at the screen, claws clicking in time with her shoes' clack against the armrest.

"Why the fuck can't you cut this shit, it's fucking ridiculous," you say, finding a big enough space by her seat to stand in.

"It's way fuckin' cool, Shouty, don't deny. And it's not shoal much 'can't' as 'won't,' you know? Shit's just too much fin."

"Jegus. You just keep it around so you have more places to put all your gold."

"Yeah, you're probs right." She shoots you a glance and a grin, fins fanning out at the expression on your face, or maybe that's just how she reacts to your face in general now. "Boring day, huh?"

"Too many bulgeblistering humpfuckers, not enough of them awful enough to send to the cull chambers according to Terezi," you say, scratching at your scalp through your hair. It's gotten tuftier in the last few days. You really hate it when it's tufty.

"Just cull 'em yourshellf when she ain't sniffin'," she says. She tosses her palmhusk over a shoulder blithely and tugs at your jacket until you wiggle your butt into the little space she ever gives you on the uncomfortable, ostentatious piece of braincurdling shit she calls a throne.

"That's not my job, Meenah." Or really what you ever want to do with your time, but you try to keep your uncomfortable pacifism to yourself. It's bad enough she knows your blood color, the last thing you need is to start coming off too Sufferer-esque. Sure she likes you now, but she did have the last shitstain with your mutation strung the fuck up, and you sort of like a) living and b) pailing her. "You want aimless slaughter, call Gamzee in, he'll do you proud, and it's not like I don't have to pap him to sleep nightly anyway. Making him Grand Subjuggulator is doing diddlyshit for his creepy motherfucking bloodlust, by the way, you're still a huge awful bitch for that."

"Aww thanks, kid, offerin' me yer moirail's crazy." She ignores most of what you said, par for the course, running a claw around your aural delicately. You feel her fiddle with one of your earrings. "That's toadally ashorable."

"Toads aren't fish."

"Whatever," she says, pulling your head over to hers by one of your horns. She bites your lip before you actually smooch her which always pisses you right the hell off and she knows it, but you purr anyway.


End file.
